


claw machine

by catmanu



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-17 23:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19964911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: “Bet you can’t get something from that claw machine,” says the shorter one. They walk up to it. The neon lights in the windows of the arcade next door flash green, then red, green, then red, and his blond hair seems to change color with the changing light.





	claw machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roosebolton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosebolton/gifts).



> Written for roosebolton's birthday, posted late because I'm a hot mess. You put the "best" in "best friend." Happy birthday <3
> 
> Thanks to [gloriousthorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousthorn) for the help proving that the photo of Andrew by a claw machine was not, in fact, a really specific hallucination.

The two men walk down the emptying boardwalk, slouching just a bit.People pass by on on either side of them, but they don’t seem to notice. They walk to their own rhythm, in their own world.They walk together, one taller than the other, each body uncannily complementing the other.

Both wear leather jackets, worn in, scuffed up.It’s the kind of night that’s both cool and warm at once, just humid enough for a jacket to feel too hot, just breezy enough that the salty air could cause a chill without one on.

The two men walk and walk, the wind fanning their hair out behind them, the damp ocean air lifting and softening the sea of curls around the taller’s shoulders.

They are laughing, joking, existing in perfect unison. Their voices are low as they talk. They are intimate, joking, laughing, together.

They come to a stretch of boardwalk full of light and noise. Attractions beckon, glowing, calling out to the crowds enjoying the March night. The calming crash of the Pacific over the rocks and sand fades away.The noise it makes as it retreats can no longer be heard.

The two notice something up ahead.

“Bet you can’t get something from that claw machine,” says the shorter one. They walk up to it. The neon lights in the windows of the arcade next door flash green, then red, green, then red, and his blond hair seems to change color with the changing light.

“Oh, yeah? I bet I can. I’ve got long arms, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Nice try, but no. No reaching in. You have to use the claw like us normal people.”

“Fucker,” says the taller one softly, but familiarly.He swats the shorter one’s shoulder.“Step aside, and witness the magic.”

“What magic? Those things are rigged. Patrick’s actually sent me some videos, there’s this youtuber who has a series on amusement park conspiracy theories. Fascinating stuff, actually.”

“I feel confident.” The taller man shakes his curls off his face and reaches into his pocket for change. “I’ve got talented hands, you know.”

“Alright then, _Andrew._ ”

“Like I said. _Fucker._ ” The taller man—Andrew—begins his turn. His long fingers wrap around the stick, ready to control the claw.

"What are you trying to get?"

"None of your business, Alex."

Alex slaps his hand over Andrew's, the buckle on the jacket's belt clacking against the side of the machine as he does. "May I assist, dearest Andy? I see one I want to get." 

"Nope. Wait your turn." And Andrew places his other hand—it's big and strong—on top of Alex's and pulls. He doesn't pull too hard. Alex smacks the sandwich of hands with his free hand and the claw drops. They groan together; apparently, the claw hadn't dropped where either of them had wanted it to.

“Hey! _Fuck_ you. I was trying to get something."

"Hmm." Andrew smiles; it's an easy, wide grin, and yet something is wicked about it. "That’s what you get for showing off."

Andrew wraps his arm around Alex's back. Alex wraps his arm around Andrew's.

"Will you _please_ let me try again?" The light now plays across Andrew's face, over his pale skin and pooling in the hollows of his cheekbones. The wind picks up. His hair is growing wilder by the second.

Alex sighs. "Fine. But you better win me something. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?"

Alex shrugs.

"I suspected as much." The claw moves again. Andrew is more deft with it this time. He bites his lip as he works, as though it were a serious task. Perhaps it is.

The gleam on his face when the claw descends and wraps neatly around a stuffed fox gives him away. It _was_ a serious task.

Alex's face lights up in response.

"I thought you might, ehm...like this," Andrew says. He kicks his toe against the boardwalk and shuffles a little in place.

"You _thought_?" Alex takes the fox and wraps his arms around it, rubbing his cheek against the brown-and-white fur. "You _knew_ , you little shit."

"...course I did. Of course I know what you like. It's my job. Part of my job."

Their foreheads come together, waves of brown curls and a curtain of blond hiding their faces from view. 

Just for a moment. Alex steps back, clearing his throat.

“Hey, do you wanna buy some wild American food while we're here? Candy apples...what's that down there...Dippin’ Dots? What the hell is Dippin’ Dots?”

“Well...not particularly,” Andrew says. He smiles at Alex and smooths down his hair right there in the garish glow of the boardwalk. “This air is making your hair fluffy, you know. Let’s go back.”

“You want to go back because my hair offends you?”

“No. Don’t make me say why...not out here. You _know_ why.”

His cheeks are red, and it’s not the fault of the neon.

Alex grins and tucks the stuffed fox under his arm. “Not sure if I do.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to show you. Back at the hotel. But let’s start with this...”

He extends his hand, and Alex takes it. His smile grows brighter by the second, and Andrew’s does the same.

They turn and walk back the way they came, leaving the lights and the sounds and the scents behind. The push and pull of the Pacific waits for them.They walk on, their voices soft. Their hands stay clasped together loosely, comfortably, familiarly.

Andrew and Alex walk to their own rhythm, in their own world.


End file.
